


Forget Me Not

by thevalesofanduin



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23859127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevalesofanduin/pseuds/thevalesofanduin
Summary: Human mortality is something Geralt very rarely deals with and, as such, often forgets exists.Yet when he finally goes to Jaskier to apologize, to make things right, he is harshly reminded of mortality’s existence. For he is on time.But only just.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 18
Kudos: 178





	Forget Me Not

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Elsa’s Song by The Amazing Devil . Now do heed the warnings. Don’t go reading this expecting a happy or hopeful ending because I’ll tell you now, there is none. Also, I’m so sorry!
> 
> [Come say hi on Tumblr](https://thevalesofanduin.tumblr.com/)

Human mortality is something Geralt very rarely deals with and, as such, often forgets exists.

Or rather, he used to forget it exists.

Because now, he won’t ever forget about it again.

Now that he’s gone to Oxenfurt in the hopes of finally, _finally_ finding Jaskier there and apologize for harsh, unintended words spoken in misdirected anger atop a mountain. Now that the woman at the entry desk frowns, tips her head to the side and apologetically says: “Professor Pankratz, you mean? Ah I’m afraid he retired a few years ago.”

What he also won’t ever forget, is the numbing shock that takes over his body then, upon realizing that when he always thought he’d had time he has now reached a point where he has instead run out of it.

\---

He rides as fast as Roach can carry him from Oxenfurt to Lettenhove as if any second, any minute he takes longer than utterly necessary is going to take Jaskier from him.

Of course, it’s easy to blame time for all of this rather than himself. But Geralt knows, oh he _knows_ , how much at fault he is here. How utterly negligent, careless and cruel he’d been all because he refused to admit his feelings even to himself.

Witchers don’t feel, he’d told himself like a mantra for so long he’d actually believed the words.

But they are wrong, _so_ wrong and oh does Geralt feel when he walks into the beautiful gardens of the Pankratz estate and catches shocked cornflower blue eyes.

He feels, he feels, he feels.

For he loves Jaskier, always has even when he had denied it. And he’s missed him so much more than he can ever put into words.

But most of all, he feels regret.

For the face those hauntingly familiar eyes sit in doesn’t look like Jaskier at all. Gone is his youth, his glow. In its stead there are wrinkles, a skin more dull than Geralt has ever seen on the other and his hair is grey.

The only thing that is truly Jaskier are those eyes, that widen when they catch sight of the Witcher and cloud with confusion, relief and heartache all in one.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice croaks around the edges with age.

Seeing him like this, hearing him like this, Geralt despairs. They have lost so much time and he wonders if he is allowed any at all now—whether by life itself or by Jaskier.

“Jaskier, I… I was at Oxenfurt.” Geralt struggles to find words, _any_ words and the ones he is speaking now are far from the right ones. “They said you’d retired.”

Jaskier huffs where he’s seated on a marble bench beneath a rose covered pergola, a few rays of sun hitting his face. The look he gives Geralt might once have been exasperated, but now there is only a flicker of annoyance left. “As one does when they get old.”

Geralt swallows around the lump in his throat, his hands clenching at his sides. “I hadn’t realized,” he whispers, lowering his eyes to the ground for he can't bear to look Jaskier in the eyes as he confesses: "Time passes differently when you're not mortal. I thought I had time."

“Time for what?" Jaskier snaps in reply, impatient and hurt. "Why are you here, Geralt?”

"To apologize. For my words, my stupidity. For throwing away the best thing that's ever happened to me." Geralt draws in a breath and dares to raise his eyes.

There is conflict in Jaskier's eyes, a war of mixed emotions raging in plain sight for the bard wants Geralt to see it, see what he's causing—again. "And now you want it back?" he eventually asks, voice a mere whisper and the air is filled with the scent of sadness.

To Geralt, sadness has always smelled cold and crisp, a smell that is tinged with saltiness like the breeze over a deep and endless sea.

_Let's head to the coast_

If he could turn back time, he would.

"I don't deserve it back," he admits, both to Jaskier and himself. For he was a fool back on the mountain but he is a fool, still, for being here. Or perhaps, it is selfishness rather than foolishness. Because as he says "I wanted you to know I did not mean it, that you are important to me and always have been," he realizes that those words are meant for Jaskier as much as they are for himself.

To right his wrongs, ease his guilt.

To see Jaskier, if only for one last time.

Jaskier, who smells like sorrow and wistfulness all at once. Who obviously hadn't expected to see Geralt again in his lifetime. "You're almost four decades late," Jaskier points out, voice tight and hands clenched in his lap. He sighs and shakes his head, tears shining in his eyes. “I should send you away, remove you from my life as you removed me from yours after taking my best years. How dare you come here now, almost too late, and re-open all my old wounds?”

Hearing those words almost knocks the breath out of Geralt's lungs, and it adds yet another point to the long list of things he has done to wrong Jaskier. Geralt fleetingly wonders if ever he can do something right when it comes to the bard who holds his heart.

Before Geralt can speak, before he can offer any excuse or comfort, Jaskier seems to deflate.

His shoulders drop and his body sags against the bench, and how is it possible that he can look at Geralt with such resignation and love at the same time?

"But my treacherous heart has always hoped to see you once again. For I've missed you, Geralt," Jaskier gives Geralt a wistful smile. "Even if you don't deserve it."

Jaskier’s words instill a silent flare of relief in Geralt's heart, for Jaskier loves him still. Even if the bard obviously wishes he didn't.

A wry smile crosses Jaskier’s face and he averts his eyes, mumbling: "Also, I'd hate to die alone."

In the moment of tense silence that follows, Geralt’s own heart seems to have stopped.

He knows he’ll lose Jaskier, has always known and perhaps that is part of the reason why he never allowed himself to truly accept his feelings.

He doesn’t know what it will do to him, seeing Jaskier die. But if the other is afraid of dying alone, the least Geralt can do after having taken so much from him is to at least bring him comfort at the end of it all.

“You won’t have to,” he promises and has never been more earnest.

Jaskier looks at him then, surprise and relief clear in his eyes as he nods and says: "Okay."

An agreement, an acknowledgement of what Geralt offers him and Jaskier granting Geralt this last chance to do him right.

And so Geralt stays.

\---

The seasons change. From the soft blossoms of Spring to the bright sun of Summer which rolls into colorful autumn followed by the serenity of Winter.

In the beginning, Jaskier and Geralt seem to dance around one another. But eventually, they find each other.

Jaskier tries to revel in Geralt’s presence, in his love finally being answered and doesn’t let himself think about the pain the other has brought him and the knowledge that he could have had this decades ago.

Geralt tries to savor the relief of being around Jaskier again, in finally opening his own heart and he doesn’t let himself think of a future where the regret of his choices will always overshadow the grief of losing Jaskier.

Two sides of a pendulum, as they’ve always been, meeting right in the very center of it all.

When Spring comes again, it comes with an almost hesitant tremble in the air.

Jaskier stands in front of a large window overlooking the gardens awakening with green grass and colorful Spring flowers. “Will you leave?”

At his side, Geralt reaches out his hand to intertwine their fingers. “Only if you want me to,” he says, doesn’t dare admit that he is afraid to leave if only for a day for he won’t know what he will find upon his return.

And so time passes, as time does.

Geralt isn’t sure how long he stays, nor does he care.

It won’t ever be long enough.

He knows, though, that it all ends one night on the cusp of Winter.

When he sits at Jaskier’s bedside, as he does every night. Keeping vigil over the other in the hopes of scaring away even death itself.

But this night, Jaskier looks at him and his eyes shine with an almost reluctant acceptance in the candle light. “Promise me one thing, Geralt.”

Geralt reaches out for Jaskier’s hand, holds the thin, frail fingers tenderly between his own as he murmurs: “anything.”

“Don’t forget me.”

“Never,” Geralt promises and kisses the top of Jaskier’s head as he falls asleep.

And when morning comes, when the sun rises on the horizon and its rays find their way into the bedroom Geralt sits at Jaskier’s bedside with a limp hand between his fingers and his heart shattered in his chest.

For he knows that Jaskier won’t wake again.

\---

He buries both Jaskier and his heart in a grave atop which dandelions will grow come Spring and leaves Lettenhove with the bitter smell of his own regret in the air.

He will go to Kaer Morhen.

Perhaps, he thinks, his family can offer him some semblance of comfort. He will be late and the path even more treacherous with Winter already setting in. Yet if he slips and falls to his own death, won’t that be a blessing in disguise?

When he arrives at the keep, the snow is high and temperatures have plummeted and all are shocked at his arrival.

But the jests and jokes, the _you’re late’s_ and the _finally showed up again’s_ die in the air when Geralt steps into the light.

No questions are asked. Geralt’s eyes spell the story out almost word by word.

Time passes differently for Witchers, but to Geralt that first Winter feels like an entire lifetime.

\---

It is after two years, when Geralt still wakes with Jaskier’s name on his lips and his whole body still feels weighed down with grief, that he goes back.

Not to Lettenhove. No, he won’t ever return to the Pankratz estate, to Jaskier’s grave, and sully the memories of their love with whatever it is he has now become.

Instead, he finds himself going back to the one place where he caused all of the grief and regret that has become like air to him.

That must’ve been like air to Jaskier for so long.

He stands at the edge, in the same place where he’d stood all those decades ago. He looks at the place where Jaskier stood. Where all the other had done, was try to make him feel better. Because even after having his heart thrown into his face by Geralt so carelessly, Jaskier would still try and offer comfort in Geralt’s moment of despair.

Geralt realized it, years later. How _let’s go to the coast_ had been Jaskier saying _I love you_ and how all he had done in reply was go to Yennefer.

He never deserved Jaskier’s love, so pure and so freely given.

He never deserved it, and yet he got it anyway and he will carry it with him until his own dying day.

In his mind, in his heart, in his whole body, flowing through him as if it is the only thing binding him to this life.

Don’t forget me, Jaskier had asked.

And Geralt won’t.

Wouldn’t, even without the promise.

He might have been completely unable to honor Jaskier in life, he will at least do so in the wake of his death.

Even if it will be the thing to destroy him.

He thinks that, if he could, he would surely cry.

Instead, he stares into the abyss below him and wonders if he deserves the redemption of death.

\---

Geralt returns, year after year after year.

The crunch of the rocks below his boots as he climbs the narrow path up the mountain becomes a familiar tune, even if it takes him just a tad longer every time.

A worrying sign, were it not for the fact that he has long been waiting for his own mortality to catch up with him.

Before, life and the Path had been harsh but after Jaskier, after having known love so fleetingly and having lost it, it has become like a curse.

A curse Geralt will endure until the bitter end.

\---

When finally the day comes when Geralt is too old, too slow and stares in the face of death itself he finds that his last promise to Jaskier, he has kept.

For his last thought before eternal darkness claims him is that of cornflower blue eyes, and in that moment he is certain he can still smell it in the air.

The bitterness of regret.


End file.
